Стюарт Вудс - Barely Legal

“Yes, Your Honor?”

The judge cocked his head. “I noticed a distinct change in your strategy this afternoon.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

Herbie felt like a student who’d been summoned to the principal’s office. “I don’t know what you want me to say. I find your asking the question somewhat irregular.”

“Oh, do you now? We are off the record, Mr. Fisher. You may speak candidly.”

“I have no idea why I am here.”

“Then you’re being disingenuous. Your behavior in court this afternoon was exemplary. You were the very model of speed and efficiency. You asked only pertinent questions, and few of those. None were objectionable on any grounds whatsoever. You were polite, courteous, and cooperative.”

“Thank you, Your Honor.”

“This is in sharp contrast to your performance during the rest of the trial. A complete one-eighty. It occurs to me a desperate attorney might point to our conversation before court and claim it had intimidated him into curtailing his cross-examination.”

“It’s a good thing I’m not desperate, Your Honor, or I would think you were talking about me.”

Judge Buckingham raised his finger. “See, now that sounds more like the smart aleck I’ve grown used to.”

Herbie sighed. Some days you just couldn’t win. “Your Honor, if a lawyer had done what you’ve just implied I’ve done, I would think it would be a matter for the Bar Association.”

Judge Buckingham’s eyes narrowed. “To consider a charge of intimidation?”

“Certainly not. To consider the lawyer’s attempt to pervert justice. It’s a good thing neither of us is contemplating such an action.”

Judge Buckingham looked buffaloed. He clearly wanted to say something, but Herbie’s attitude had left him speechless.

“Well, if there’s nothing else, Your Honor, I have to prepare for the case. The defense is up tomorrow.”

Herbie bowed and nodded his way out the door, leaving the judge utterly frustrated.

Herbie spotted Dino’s man as he was getting onto the subway. He’d tried to get a taxi, but it was rush hour, so there were no cabs to be had, so he’d walked down to City Hall to catch the Lexington Avenue express.

Herbie spotted him getting onto the car. At first he thought he was one of Taperelli’s men. Or, rather, one of Detective Kelly’s men. Herbie could tell from the man’s unmistakable bearing that he was a cop — he just didn’t know if he was a good cop or a bad cop. He was an undercover cop, perhaps out of Kelly’s stable.

The guy wasn’t a bad tail. Herbie only spotted him because he couldn’t get on the car until Herbie did, and in the rush-hour crunch, there was no room and the conductor was trying to close the door on him. The loudspeaker was squawking, “There’s a train right behind us! Let the doors go!” in a distorted, tinny voice. Then he noticed a man trying to get onto the car at all costs, and it dawned on him he was a cop.

The cop followed Herbie all the way back to his apartment. Herbie noticed him a few times, but only because he’d already spotted him in the subway car. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have had a clue.

Herbie went into the bar, poured himself a shot of Knob Creek, tossed it off, and collapsed on the couch in a heap.

All right, what the hell did he do now?

The cop was a problem. Taking on Taperelli’s men alone wouldn’t be easy, and the cop added an unnecessary complication. If the cop followed him to the hideout in Queens, he’d come crashing in as soon as he realized what was going on. But he’d be too little too late. Herbie’d probably be dead by the time he reached the door.

Herbie’s cell phone rang. He pulled it out, checked caller ID.

He groaned. It was Mario Payday.

He’d forgotten all about Mario Payday. The guy wanted ninety thousand bucks or he’d kill him. Well, he’d just have to wait in line. Herbie sent the call to voice mail. He wondered if Mario would leave a message or if such tactics were beneath him.

Herbie considered calling Joshua Hook at Strategic Defenses. He should have taken him up on his offer to help. Was it too late now? Josh could be here in, what, an hour and forty-five minutes? But what would he be? Just another person to pique the interest of the police escort. If Dino heard Josh was here, he’d throw every cop in the area in the mix.

Herbie’s phone beeped.

Mario Payday had finished leaving his voice mail message. Herbie clicked it on and played it back.

“Mr. Fisher, this is Carlo, Mario Payday’s assistant. I’m calling because Mario does not like to make this sort of call himself. Which I quite understand. I’m calling because you have not paid Mario yet. Which I don’t understand. A man such as you should have the wherewithal and the perspicacity — don’t ask me, Mario told me to use the word — to discharge the debt before it becomes an issue. If you do not discharge it this evening, Mr. Fisher, Mario will be forced to cut his losses and make an example out of you, as a lesson to other debtors who might come to think that a financial obligation is something to be taken lightly.

“Mario will be sad to lose you. He finds you amusing.”

Herbie slipped the phone back in his pocket.

David knew something was wrong. His father had been acting strange all day. For the last two days, actually, ever since he’d come and pulled Herbie away from lunch. David didn’t like it. He was the one on trial. He was the one in danger. And now his own father and lawyer were keeping things from him. It was like he had no one to trust. A hell of a position for a college-age kid, already feeling like he was up against the world.

David finished his dinner, which he’d eaten alone in the big dining room, thinking he should have gotten a TV tray in his own room, only he’d hoped his father would join him for the meal. He didn’t.

David went to check on the councilman. The door to his father’s study was closed, which meant he desired privacy.

David pushed the door open and went in.

The councilman was slumped in his chair. A bottle of whiskey was open on the desk in front of him. He was a man on the brink of despair.

“Dad, what’s wrong?”

Councilman Ross immediately straightened in his chair. “It’s nothing. Just business problems.”

“Bullshit.”

“David.”

“Dad, I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s not just me. I’ve been on trial for days. I didn’t do it, but you’re overreacting even if I did. And I’m not going to leave you alone until you tell me why.”

The councilman looked at his son standing in front of him, strong and determined. He sighed and all the resistance oozed out of him.

“It’s your sister.”

Herbie didn’t know what to do. The whole world was crashing down on him. The cops were after him. The mobsters were after him. Now a loan shark was after him. And he didn’t have time for any of them, not if he was going to rescue Melanie Porter.

The thought was amusing. Rescuing the girl. What was he, the hero in some adventure story? No, he was just Herbie Fisher, attorney-at-law, and, sadly enough, the best chance Melanie Porter had.

He had to get out of his apartment building without being seen. Could it be done? Dino had advanced the theory that Taperelli’s men could have gotten in because they’d cut the cameras for the stairwell. Presumably he could go down those stairs. But what difference would it make? The cop wouldn’t be watching the security cameras. Herbie was a tenant. Nobody gave a damn if he used the elevator.

The stairwell led to the garage, presumably the method of egress used by Taperelli’s men. Well, the elevator did, too. He could take the elevator down to the garage. He didn’t have a car, but he could just walk out the entrance. The garage man didn’t know him, but he wouldn’t stop him going out .